


A Dampened Cheek

by gonfalonier



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Jefferson is a creep, M/M, Sex Crying, Taste Kink, possible dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6342292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonfalonier/pseuds/gonfalonier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Thomas, the only thing charming about Alexander Hamilton is his silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dampened Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt response for inspidity who wanted Jefferson/Hamilton sex crying. Sorry. Thanks.

Thomas is a connoisseur. He has a subtle palate that clings to hints of flavor. He enjoys delicious things. When he dines with others it thrills him to know he is tasting what others cannot, that their tongues are to his what a dog's eyes are to an owl's.

He has quite a sharp idea of what Alexander Hamilton is tasting right now. Sweat and thin fluid, unwashed skin. (And really, whose fault is that? Give a man some warning so he can prepare.)

There has been a theory proposed by anatomists that regions of the tongue are assigned to different flavors: sweet here; sour there; bitter at the back near the throat. Hamilton must be experiencing bitter in the extreme. Thomas pushes the heel of his hand against Hamilton’s forehead and draws himself back. Drags himself across the center of the tongue to give him something sweet.

Salt taste at the tip. Thomas, he likes salt. Sweets are for little boys who need rewards. Thomas prefers something astringent, something that will pique his saliva. Spice he can’t abide, but salt by the spoonful. (He wonders: Does Hamilton taste like spice, having been raised in the tropics? He must ask Eliza. Or whoever else.) He’s tasted his own release and found it to his liking. Perhaps Hamilton will feel similar.

Now, however, Thomas isn’t tasting much of anything, and that seems unfair. Hamilton’s mouth is soon to be dripping with flavors while Thomas has only his own bland tongue to chew. That needs to change. How convenient, how thoughtful of Hamilton to provide the solution to the problem he himself has created. He looks up at Thomas, accusing, scathing. His nostrils are flared. Thomas cups Hamilton’s face and smiles benevolently and brushes his thumb across the crest of his cheekbone.

The tear trembles on the pad of his thumb like the morning dew on a stalk of grass. Exquisite. Thomas draws his thumb into his mouth and sucks it clean like a shank bone. No spice there; all saline. It’s adulterated, though, by the taste of his own fine skin, the whorls of his fingerprints providing vestiges of oil, hints of musk.

After he’s finished desecrating Hamilton’s prized mouth, he grasps his jaw, wrenches his head to the right, and licks a fresh taste right from the source.


End file.
